


A Dream of Otters

by anthean



Category: The Immortals - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthean/pseuds/anthean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pregnancy, for a Wildmage, has some unexpected challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream of Otters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarabithia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write for one of my favorite book series. I had a great time, and I hope you enjoy your fic!

_The rush and splash of the river half-wakes her from her doze. She stretches her hind legs and digs her toes into the rich wet earth of her den, then curls up again, her tail wrapping around her to cover her nose. The air is thick and heavy with river-smell, cold water and juicy fish and the tang of wet moss on stone. Her kit is asleep inside her, and her mate is a warm, solid, weight against her flank. She stretches again, pushing the sheets to the side, and rolls over to snuffle at her mate's chin. He murmurs in his sleep and wraps an arm around her, and she falls asleep again tucked against his body, warm and safe._  
  
"You were an otter last night."  
  
Daine blinks her way to full awareness. The sun shining in their open window makes a bright patch on the wall, and the breeze carries the dusty smells of the palace and the morning gossip of the local flock of sparrows. She rolls over. Numair sits on the other side of the bed, fully dressed and hair bound back. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, reaching out to rest his hand on her rounded belly.  
  
"You spent most of the night in otter form, although you changed back a few minutes before you woke," Numair continues. "I think you were dreaming. Your whiskers twitched." He tweaks her nose; she swats his hand away, giggling.  
  
"I was dreaming. Otter dreams," Daine says.  
  
"And bobcat dreams the night before last?"  
  
"And chipmunk the night before," Daine confirms. She stretches, reacquainting herself with the short torso and long limbs of her two-legger shape, the flat face and stiff spine. When she stills, Numair lies down beside her.  
  
"And otter dreams today," Numair repeats. "How is the little otter?"  
  
"Not awake yet. Sleepy and safe in the den."  
  
Numair smiles and kisses her belly. "Sleep a bit longer, little one," he says. They lie in silence for a moment, breathing together, before Numair levers himself upright with a sigh. "Duty calls," he says, and leans down to kiss her soundly.  
  
"For both of us," Daine agrees, untangling her feet from the sheets and sitting up. "I've horses to visit." Numair is gathering books from where they're scattered at random around their bedroom; he gives her a final smile before disappearing into his workroom. Daine pushes herself to her feet and walks to the closet to find clean clothes. The words "little otter" echo through her head a few times, but by the time she's dressed and headed down to the stables she's forgotten.  
  
_She drowses on the plains. Wind sweeps through the sweet whispering grass and blows shreds of cloud across the dark vault of sky above. The stars shine hard and bright, numerous as the blades of grass underfoot. Her heads droops towards the ground and she shifts her weight from hoof to hoof. The herd is still and comforting around her, quiet and alert, and her belly hangs heavy with her fawn. Somewhere else, her mate shifts on the other side of the bed, reaching out for her, and she rolls towards him._  
  
Numair curses and falls off the bed, swearing again as something clatters to the floor. Daine flails with arms that she can't quite control, strains to see with eyes that seem to be in the wrong place. She forces herself to relax, listening to Numair's grumpy half-asleep mutterings. Cloven hooves become hands, and small horns melt back into her skull.  
  
She scoots to the edge of the bed and looks over. Numair, sprawled on the floor, squints up at her through the darkness. "Did I kick you?" she asks.  
  
"No, but you did give me a good jab with your horns." He reaches up to thread his fingers through her hair and tug. "A deer?"  
  
"Close. Antelope." She moves over and Numair climbs back into bed, gathers her in his arms.  
  
"Please limit yourself to smaller animals from now on, if you don't mind," he says, voice already turning sleepy. "Ow!"  
  
Daine releases his hand and grins. "I can still bite you no matter how small I am," she says, and feels him chuckle. "Go to sleep before I do it again."  
  
_She floats with her pod just below the surface, weightless in the water, soft currents brushing over her skin. The water brings her all the ocean's distant night noises: the waves on the surface, the groans and whistles of a pod of humpbacks a few miles away, the quiet silvery shimmer of the great schools of herring along the coast. They will reach the schools tomorrow, and there will be a glut of food, enough to feed both her and her growing calf. She twitches her flukes, lifts herself to the surface for a breath of air—_  
  
—she wakes with a jolt, body achingly heavy and skin rapidly drying, thrashing her tail in a frenzy. Someone is talking quickly and calmly, a low stream of unintelligible sound, but she ignores it, focuses on sucking in air in this strange dry place, where her body seems ready to collapse under its own weight. Her calf is moving in her womb, aware that something is terribly wrong and beginning to panic.  
  
A hand touches her side. A two-legger stands next to her, bending to peer directly into her eye. He's the source of the calming sounds, she realizes, and she begins to listen, feeling safety and comfort wash over her like water. She stops thrashing and exhales a warm rush of air, and feels it move from her lungs through her throat. After that it's easy, and as her fins lengthen to arms and her layers of blubber shrink Numair's murmurings resolve into words.  
  
"—love, I know you're listening, just a little more, and— oh, Daine, thank gods."  
  
Daine opens her eyes. It's just before dawn, light gray and smudged. Far away, an early-rising flock of robins has found a bush covered in berries. Numair's hands are warm on her shoulders, and his face is pinched with worry. Daine reaches up to touch his cheek. "I'm all right now," she says.  
  
Numair sputters. "All right?" he finally exclaims. "You were a whale!"  
  
"Porpoise—"  
  
"—fine! Porpoise!" Numair leans down to kiss her, and Daine pulls him down beside her, rearranging them to curl in his arms. She laughs.  
  
"I could breathe," Daine says, and laughs again when Numair's arms tighten around her. "But not if you keep doing that. Anyway, you talked me back, and I was fine."  
  
"This time," Numair says. He sits up and looks down at her. "Magelet, I have never met someone so heedless of her own safety. You inadvertently shapeshifted into a whale—porpoise—while in an adverse environment. What if tonight you become a _fish_?"  
  
Daine yanks him back down and rolls half on top of him to keep him still. He glares at her. "Of all the harebrained ideas," she says tartly. "I've always been a mammal so far. It's fair strange, to be sure, but I don't see anything to make such a fuss about."  
  
Numair wiggles under her, and she lets him up. He gets out of bed and begins stomping around the room, picking up the scattered pillows and blankets and righting the furniture that had been knocked over by her tail, very pointedly not saying anything. Daine sits up and watches, her mind wandering.  
  
"Little otter," she says finally.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's the baby," Daine says, working the thought out as she speaks it aloud. "I dream about being in animal-shape all the time, that's nothing odd." Numair nods, his eyes on her. He's holding a sheet in one hand and a large chunk of quartz in the other, and as she watches he absently drops the sheet and tugs at his nose with his now-free hand. "I think the baby is hearing my dreams, and they're so strong that it shapeshifts into whatever animal I'm dreaming about."  
  
Numair is nodding, and he comes to sit beside her again, still holding the lump of quartz. "Thus instigating a feedback cycle in which the baby's shape-change prompts you to also inadvertently shift, possibly to ensure a better-adapted prenatal environment for whatever animal the baby has shifted into."  
  
"There must be a shorter way of saying that."  
  
"Yes, if you want to sacrifice clarity in favor of generalization, you could certainly—" Numair breaks off, seeing Daine's grin. "More to the point: can you control it?"  
  
Daine scoots down in bed and punches her pillow back into shape. "I don't see why not. Here, let's try." She holds back the sheet for Numair.  
  
He just looks at her. "Love, there is no possible way I can sleep after that."  
  
"Have it your own way," Daine says. "I'm trying, and you can stick around and watch or not." She snuggles deeper into the pillow and closes her eyes, and after a moment feels the bed move as Numair sets down his quartz and settles beside her. She slows her breathing, and—  
  
_—the den is dry and warm, nestled tight under the roots of an old pine tree. The needles are piled in thick drifts outside, and the den is full of sharp pine scent. She can hear mice tunneling in the earth nearby, plump and juicy, and she pricks up her ears, shakes herself awake—_  
  
The sun is high on the wall. She rolls over and looks at Numair, who is nearly beaming. "A fox," he says. "A fox the whole time."  
  
"The little fox as well," Daine says, and kisses him.


End file.
